


Written Between Notes

by RinKim



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7740682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinKim/pseuds/RinKim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue Cheney has always been the guy to hide away in the shadows, making sure to never attract the attention from the students around him at Fiore University. He usually succeeds in this by locking himself away at the library in the lunch breaks, hence avoiding any contact with the bullies who tend to hunt him whenever they please.<br/>However, Rogue experiences a fateful encounter while working at his older brother's record store - a fateful encounter with the name of Sting Eucliffe, who just happens to be the leader of Fiore Uni's leading band.<br/>Rogue was certain that that he couldn't be taught anything by the energetic, happy guy that Sting is - however, Sting slowly teaches Rogue to love himself - to love life, just before everything is torn apart by the merciless creation that is fate.<br/>Because the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My first Stingue fanfiction~! //super excited// 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the story~! English isn't my first language, but hopefully my beta reader will help me out with my small mistakes. <3

_If I had not met you_

_I would not have experienced that pain and sadness, and memories filled with tears_

_If I had not met you_

_I would also not have experienced that joy, excitement and memories filled with tears_

_But_

_If I had not met you_

_I would also not have experienced that joy_

_Excitement_

_Preciousness_

_Happiness_

_The feeling of absolute happiness_

_I keep wondering how you are_

_Even now - I still love the bright Sun chasing away my shadows_


	2. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to the Hell that is University...

Hello there, my name is Rogue, well, my birth name is Rogue Cheney. No one actually calls me Rogue though but that is a completely different story that I will not be getting into right now. Let’s just say that people call me Scarface because of well, my scar. Big nasty bugger right across my face. Nah, just kidding. It is actually really minor but of course that never mattered. I didn’t decide on this name anyway, some tall muscly six foot something guy did.

Anyway, I’m a senior at Fiore University which is a pretty cool school for those who fit in and a not so cool school for those of us who don’t. I’m not a jock, not even by a far stretch. I’m not a stoner either and I am not a geek - okay I guess I would fit in better with the geeks than anywhere else. I mean, if they liked me. But no one really likes me, kudos to Mr. Six Foot Muscle.

I don’t actually know how Six Foot Muscle found me but he did, despite me hiding out in the library ever since I got here.

I swear, the only reason I even came to this school was in order to study art and French, nothing else. I don’t even care about my social life that much, since friendships achieved at places like these never last in the long run. Sure, it would be nice to be able to actually attend a party or two, or at least just get invited to one, but let’s be honest - that’s never going to happen to Scarface here.

Anyway, the cliques at Fiore Uni are like this:

First off - The geeks. Pretty sweet people, the girl over there is insecure, the one with blue hair is bad at math, the plain one is excellent at everything and the one with glasses just hang out with them because they’re girls.

Then there’s the jocks. They’re airheads, all of them. They think they run the school, which they by the way and for your information don’t. They are usually the reason the windows are broken but I didn’t tell you that.

There’s the people that everyone tend to avoid, the gang. These guys are mean. Well not mean mean but mean. Okay they are actually mean mean but only if they don’t like you. So they are mean mean to me. Anyway, dude over there is an asshole, dude beside him is an asshole too and the dude with the spiky hair? God, don’t even get me started.

The bunch of colorful people over there are the make-up crazies. I mean, yeah, sure, they are nice but I very strongly prefer to not have my eyebrows waxed off because we tried that once and I ended up with one done and one normal because hell to the no am I going through that twice. Also I apparently have nice lips which are perfect for lipstick. How about no. I am never befriending a make-up crazy again.

The group over there are the art nerds. Those guys are cool. Like, they somewhat let me join their group when Mr Six Foot Muscle is not chasing me. They somewhat get along with the make-up crazies because the make-up people do the makeup and then we take the pictures or draw them. So you know, codependency.

Those ones with the baggy trousers and the hats and the cigarettes are the skaters. How they manage to not end up in the hospital every damn day is a mystery because some of those tricks looks like suicide missions but hey they make it work go them.

Lastly we have the populars, they are ruled by the almighty Sting Eucliffe and his band of followers. He throws the best parties, gets the best grades, the sweetest girls and is an all-round magnet for any kind of luck. He is also funny, kind and caring and he takes care of his friends. Of course, this is all second hand information because, you know, I never actually spoke to the guy. Something about this spiky blond hair of his just irks me.

Even now, as I make my way through the schoolyard with my books in my arms I tend to observe the people around me, like they’re some kind of social experiment about hormonal teenagers and I’m the experimenter. No, I’ve never been great at interacting with other people, actually I kinda suck at it and I do everything I can to avoid it, but sadly I can’t just become one with the shadows around me and disappear.

“Hey, Scarface! Did you pick a fight with your cat again?”

What a great way to start your day, right?

It’s no surprise to me that the comment come from the small pack of jocks passing by me on my way to Art class. They even line up in front of me, blocking my path, just as they tend to do in order to seem more intimidating than they actually are. If I’ve learned anything about jocks in my last three years of high school, it’s that they’re pack animals - you rarely see a jock by himself, he’s always in a crowd of other jocks to have his back, just in case his mask of self esteem should falter.

“Really, after three years I had hoped for some more creativity, Bacchus,” I simply point out with a rather bored expression on my face. I don’t even know why I try to communicate with these people, because apparently anything that comes out of my mouth seems to be hilarious to them. I should be a comedian or something.

The tall, muscular guy with the black hair and dark eyes in the middle of the six people in front of me - that’s Bacchus Groh, the leader of the football team, and let’s just say that he’s an idiot. He’s arrogant, rude and reeks of alcohol pretty much any time of the day. Now, the last thing wouldn’t bother me, if it wasn’t because I just didn’t like his guts.

“Hahaha! Look at this, guys! Scarface actually talks today,” Bacchus taunts as he lets out a loud laughter, earning the attention from the students and teachers around us - fucking fantastic! Let’s make sure everyone watches as you slam my face against the ground, Bacchus, that would be great.

“Yeah, it’s all very nice, and I do appreciate your time and attention, but I really need to get to class,” I mutter quietly and roll my eyes a bit at them as I try to walk around them, but end up being cornered by the six of them all over again.

“Do you think we’re done with you, Scarface?” Bacchus asks as he steps closer to me and leans a bit down so he can face me properly since he is, in fact, quite tall, almost as tall as Six Foot Muscle, but he finished High School two years ago, though, “You know, there’s this thing about you that really annoys me.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” I sigh quietly. Normally a person would feel intimidated by six tall, muscular guys ganging up on them, but honestly I have gotten quite used to it by now. Three years ago I would probably be shaking all over just when people looked at me, but by now I couldn’t care less. Bacchus and his gang may beat me up once in a while, destroy my things and ruin my already completely broken reputation - but luckily this hell of a school will soon be over, and I can continue my life away from this social experiment called university and hormonal teenagers.

“Do you think you’re being funny, brat?” Bacchus hisses at me just before he grabs the collar of my white shirt and knitted vest, which immediately makes me drop all three books I was holding onto the ground. I can feel how the ground almost disappears under my feet as Bacchus lifts me up, as if I was a sack of feathers.

“Well, you do tend to laugh at everything I say, so that would be a yes,” I mutter quietly, and sometimes I just wish I could keep my mouth shut instead of letting my sarcastic voice out - God, how I hate my sarcasm at times like these.

“You little—…” Bacchus cusses under his breath before he raises his clenched fist, ready to knock me out for my snarky comments, and probably also the fact that I seem somewhat unaffected by his intimidating aura.

I clench my teeth a little bit as I prepare myself for his fist colliding with my face, once again, and the other students around us have started cheering the jocks on, as if it’s some sort of wrestling match - in which case I would be suffering from a major handicap.

“Mister Groh!”

The voice is rather loud, shrieking even, and it echoes throughout the whole schoolyard and literally makes everyone around us halt their movements and go completely mute - including Bacchus, whose fist just stopped mid-air.

I look to the side and I get eye contact with the only teacher who actually isn’t the least bit afraid of Bacchus - my art teacher, Minerva Orland. She’s really tall, slim like a real model, and has the most beautiful long, black hair and dark green eyes that can pierce through anything, really. It’s almost impossible to figure out whether or not she’s a good or bad teacher, since she frightens pretty much all her students half to death. Bacchus’ intimidating aura falters next to Miss Orland’s.

“Are you aware that you’re going to be late to class, Mister Groh?” she says with a stern voice before eyeing the rest of the students in the school yard, “The rest of you as well. Scoop off, this instant, or I shall personally drag you all to the principal’s office, slackers!”

Bacchus immediately loosens his grip on my clothes and I let out a relieved sigh as I’m able to feel solid ground under my feet once again. It would seem that I was able to avoid any unnecessary collision between Bacchus’ fist and my face.

“You were lucky this time, Scarface,” Bacchus growls lowly at me before he turns to walk away - but not without stepping on one of my books on his way, of course. I just let out a small growl at this, before I kneel down to pick up my books and making sure that they’re not too damaged since I’ll be using them in the art class.

“Rogue Cheney, you should hurry to class as well,” Miss Orland points out as she walks by on her way to the classroom where I’ll be attending her art class.

“Yes, Miss Orland,” I reply without looking up, but just focusing on picking up my stuff and dusting the books off. I just manage to see her black high heels as she walks by. Minerva Orland is a terrifying teacher, no doubt about that - but she wears the terror and torment with elegance.

I just let out a small sigh as I stand once again before making my way to class, avoiding all the eye contact with the students around me - not like they even wanted to have eye contact with me anyway, I’m that weird guy everyone avoids. My hair is a little bit long and black like charcoal. My bangs are so long, that the right half of my face is covered at all times, not that I care very much about it - at least my scar will be half covered this way. The scar that stretches from my right cheek, across my nose, and to my left cheek - right in the middle of my face, which is just brilliant.

I’m not one of those teenagers that struggles with pimples - actually I don’t believe I’ve ever had a pimple in my whole life - but instead I have this scar that’s even more bizarre than any pimple would be.

My skin is pale white, as if the rays of the Sun hasn’t kissed my skin in years, which just so happens to be the case.

However, the thing that’s probably most bizarre about me is my eyes. They’re red, and not in the I-haven’t-slept-for-days kind of way, more like the demon spawn kind of way. I remember having scared the living shit out of children before which actually somewhat hurt me, mostly because I do like children - no, I’m not cold to the core, I do have feelings and whatnot. I just hide it all away in order to survive this living hell that deserves to burn for all eternity.

I look over my shoulder to make sure that there are no other jocks or bullies around before I stand on my feet with my books in my arms once again, deciding I should probably hurry up if I didn’t want to be late for class - and being late for one of Miss Orland’s classes is one thing that really terrifies me.


	3. The Endless Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue somehow manages to survive yet another day in the university of Hell - and might or might not have found a new friend, much to his surprise.

I somehow manage to make my way through art class without fucking up in any way. No, it’s not like I’m bad at art class, I’m actually one of the best students in my class if I may say so myself - however, I am also quite clumsy and I have succeeded in spilling paintbrush water all over the floor more than once before, which Miss Orland wasn’t too fond of, actually no one was and I was stuck at the classroom after the class had ended just so that I could clean the whole floor. 

At the end of the class, I am left with a decent painting in front of me, since we had the time to practice some of the more practical aspects of art today, instead of just discussing the difference between baroque and rococo for all those students in the class that are just a little bit thick-headed. 

“Very well, everyone, make sure to read the chapter about Baroque until next time,” Miss Orland tells the class with a steady glare, which pretty much makes half the class gulp in utter terror - including me, because even if I might be one of the best students in the class I’m still terrified of my art teacher. 

“Understood, Miss Orland,” the class mutters in response before people start packing their stuff. I sorta hope that I’ll be able to leave school without running into Bacchus and his gang again, though I highly doubt it. The only way I might be able to avoid them would be if I somehow managed to leave class earlier than them, so that I could flee before they caught me. 

I sound like a chicken, yes, I’m pathetic, but I do in fact appreciate my face and would like to avoid getting any more scars than I already have. It’s not like I’m skinny, weak and don’t know how to defend myself, it’s just that Bacchus and his gang are six very tall, muscular people, and I don’t stand a chance against them all at once. 

“Excuse me?” I hear a girl say, and for some reason she manages to catch my attention almost instantly - mostly because I’m baffled at the fact that someone actually speaks to me without a hint of disgust in their voice. 

“Yes?” I reply as soon as I look around just to stand face to face with a familiar, yet alien, face. I know who this girl is - of course I do, I have art class with her - but at the same time I’m confused at the fact that she actually speaks to me. She’s a beautiful girl, not very tall, have a nice figure and a cute face. Her hair is silver with a blue shine to it, her eyes hazel. I know her name, it’s Yukino Agria - one of the populars, which is the main reason I’m utterly confused. Why would a popular even waste their time talking to someone like me? 

“I—… I-I would just like to say, that I really think your art is beautiful,” she somehow manages to stutter shyly and I swear that I can see a small hint of a blush on her rather pale cheeks. 

“Oh, well… Thanks, I guess?” I mutter with a raised eyebrow, not knowing exactly what to say. Honestly I’m not used to getting compliments about anything, whether it’s my looks, intelligence, behavior or art. 

I turn my head a bit to look at the easel in front of the chair I’ve been sitting in for the last two hours. The painting resting on it is what I would call decent, though I know I can do much better if I actually had the time for it, instead of just hurrying through all the techniques I’ve been taught the last three years. I’m in no way self-confident, but I do in fact know that I’m an excellent artist. 

“I don’t believe we’ve talked before,” she says with a shy smile as I continue to pack my stuff, not particularly interested in conversing with one of the populars since I am well aware that I will get into trouble if I do something wrong, even though this girl doesn’t seem harmful in any way. 

“Mhm, I highly doubt that,” I respond as I pick up my back and swing it over my shoulder. No, we might not have talked before, because she’s a popular, and I’m just plain, boring Scarface. 

“My name is Yukino,” she says, even though I’m well aware of her name it’s still nice that she introduces herself somehow. 

“I’m Rogue Cheney,” I mumble quietly as I avoid her hazel eyes a little bit. I’m not sure whether I actually want to keep talking to her, or if I should just leave - so much for leaving class fast in order to avoid Bacchus and his gang, huh. 

“Nice to meet you, Rogue-sama,” she says with a small giggle, and I must admit I’m now even more baffled than before - what’s with the “-sama”? 

“Uhm… Nice… Meeting you too?” I respond as I raise an eyebrow in utter confusion. I’m not sure whether it’s good or bad that Yukino Agria just called me Rogue-sama. She’s a popular so it should be good, right? I’ve even seen her hang around that alpha male Sting Eucliffe, which means she must be one of the closer friends of Sting’s - which is jut an even bigger reason to be nice to her, even though “nice” isn’t exactly one of the words in my dictionary when it comes to strangers. 

So much for being bullied for the most of your life, it’s nice building barriers to keep strangers away that might or might not hurt you. Isn’t it? 

“Anyway, I’ll have to go,” Yukino says as she picks up her bag with a cheery smile on her lips, “I’ll see you around, Rogue-sama! Bye!” She waves at me with a wide smile on her lips like she just made a new friend though I barely even spoke to her. I just return the gesture with a hesitating wave of my hand without saying anything in return. 

Yeah, I’m still amazed at the fact that one of the populars spoke to me, and didn’t even call me Scarface or the like. The most of the populars tend to go with the flow when it comes to calling me nicknames, even though the jocks are without a doubt the worst. 

“Oh, fuck, Bacchus,” I hiss under my breath as I look at the clock - it’s past three, meaning he’ll most likely be waiting for me somewhere at campus, and I don’t have time to mentally prepare myself for whatever he has in store for me, so I just quickly look outside the classroom and take in my surroundings; making sure Bacchus and the other jocks aren’t in sight. That’s where I’m kinda glad that they’re tall and muscular - they’re hard to miss. 

“Okay, coast is clear,” I mutter for myself before I step out in the hallway and make my way down the hall, headed towards the entrance at the end of it. I hear the usual talking and whispering around me, but that’s nothing new. Apparently I’m a great subject when it comes to gossip and rumors - I’m glad I can help, or not. It amazes me that people are that bad at finding new subjects to talk about, really. How can I still be interesting after almost three years? Hell, none of my friendships lasted that long. 

I’m surprised that my older brother hasn’t thrown me out on the street yet, and he’s been putting up with me for nineteen years. 

Kudos to him. 

I let out a long-drawn sigh as I exit through the gates of the school building and start walking through the school yard, with the exit in sight. I’m by far the only student who hurries away from the school to freedom after yet another day at school. However, my reason for my steady pace is different from everyone else’s - they don’t have bullies searching for them like I do. 

“Hey, Scarface! Where do you think you’re going?!” The loud all too familiar voice yells after me, which just makes me walk even faster than I already do. It’s not like I would be safe as soon as I left the school grounds though - that would just mean that the school couldn’t be held responsible for any damage. 

I feel someone grabbing my arm and I’m immediately spun around to face the jocks from earlier - Bacchus and his gang of other jocks, “Did you think you could just leave like that, without saying goodbye, Scarface?” Bacchus asks with a cocky grin on his face, “We’re not done with you just yet. Too bad your teacher wont save you now.” 

“Well, I never asked her to save me,” I point out with a low mumbling as I turn my head a bit away from the jocks who seem to be too amused by the fact that I’m completely and utterly helpless against them. 

However, there’s something that catches my attention as I hear a laughter coming from quite a bit away, and some people chatting, “Hey, Sting! Heard about that new place downtown? We should totally go check it out later!” 

I frown a little bit as I realize that it’s just a group of populars passing by with their alpha male - Sting Eucliffe, the guy that everyone knows who is, the guy all the girls want and all the guys want to be. He’s walking with a guitar on his back, probably on his way to or from band practice, since he is in fact the leader of the school’s band. Yes, he’s probably amazing in his own way, and he is undoubtedly very handsome, but what else does he really have that I don’t, apart from the lack of sarcastic comments and snarky remarks? Hell, he even has a scar across his right eyebrow, yet he’s not the one being called Scarface everywhere he goes. 

“I’m sorry, guys, but I got something I need to do later,” Sting says with a small laughter, “We can do it another day, alright?”

“Aw, balls! Then we’ll see you later, bro!” I just stand and watch as the populars split up just before leaving school grounds, and a small part of me actually wonders if they live like normal people - do they eat, sleep and do their homework like the rest of us? What else do they do? 

Why am I so curious? 

“Scarface, your attention should be here, jerk!” Bacchus cusses at me, and before I even get the chance to move my face back to look at him, I feel a fist colliding with my left cheek causing me to stumble to the ground and drop my bag on the way. 

The loud sound of my body hitting the ground echoes throughout the school yard, but no one really seems to care much - it’s become quite common for me to get beaten up at some point of the day. 

I turn around on the ground and sit up, holding a hand on the place on my cheek where Bacchus’ fist hit me. I can feel something warm and wet, and as soon as I remove my hand to examine it, I see a drop of red liquid running down one of my fingers. I’m bleeding. 

“Aw, is Scarface gonna cry now? Maybe throw a hissy fit?” Bacchus teases, causing his friends to burst out laughing, even though I have never cried in front of them, hell I’ve never even been too upset about anything - I just haven’t cared enough to actually bother with either. 

I hear Bacchus cracking his fists as he waits for my reaction to his endlessly annoying words aimed at me. I let out a sigh as I stumble to my feet rather clumsily, before raising my head to look up at the jocks in front of me as I mentally prepare myself for what’s to come. 

This is the main reason I haven’t smiled for a very long time. 


	4. Fateful Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another day at Iron Records - however, Rogue seem to experience a fateful encounter that will chance his life.

“Ouch!” I exclaim with what sounds like a small whimper just as my older brother puts a band aid on my left cheek, the place where Bacchus’ fist first hit me a short time ago. There’s a dull pain left in cheek, on the outside as well as the inside, which make me growl quietly in discomfort and irritation.

I’m stuck at my workplace for now - my older brother’s record store; Iron Records, a store that specializes in vinyl records and other music. I have managed to change into clothes way more fitting for my surroundings, a black Ramones T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans with a single chain hanging from them - not to mention to leather bracelet, of course. So overall it’s a completely different style from what I wear to school. My hair, on the other hand, is still pulled back in a pony tail since I like it that way, though my bangs are still covering just about half of my face - my right half. 

However, as I changed my clothes, my brother walked in on me and saw all my fresh bruises. 

So now I’m sitting here, on a chair by the counter, while my older brother takes care of my visible bruises. 

“How did you say this happened, again?” my brother asks with a skeptical look in his red eyes that match my own. 

“I already told you! I fell down the stairs, okay,” I mutter as I avert my glare somewhere else - anywhere else but my big brother, really. He knows me better than anyone else, and he is probably the person in this world that knows when I’m lying. 

“Well, with your clumsiness that’s no surprise to me, really,” he points out as he closes the box with the first aid kit once again, “I swear, I know no one else who is half as clumsy as you, not even Levy.” 

“Whoa, harsh…” 

“It’s the truth, buddy,” he says with a small grin before he shrugs his broad shoulders a bit, while I just watch him in silence for now. My older brother is merely seven years older than me, but he’s way bigger, stronger and taller than me. He looks like he could kill, really. His hair is black, just like mine, and it’s way longer - all the way down his back, in fact, in some kind of wild, untamed hairstyle. He has a tons of piercings, not only in his face, but just about everywhere on his body - as far as I know. He wears pretty much nothing but black clothes, something I would also do if it didn’t mean an even bigger reason to pick on me at school - I had been called “emo” for the first year because I wore nothing but black and dark gray for a year. 

“Anyway, I have an errand I need to run, can you take care of the store while I’m away?” he asks as he stands after having sat down on a chair while he tended to my wounds. I just blink my eyes a few times while I comprehend what he just asked of me - he’s usually very overprotective when it comes to his store, and he’s never left me all by myself in it before. 

“Eh, are you sure?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, “I mean, this store is like your baby, Gajeel.”

“Yeah, and you’re my baby brother, shouldn’t I be able to trust you with my store for just half an hour?” he points out while he puts the first aid kit away somewhere behind the counter, “You’re nineteen, not seven, I’m sure you can handle it.” 

I’m somewhat flattered that my brother actually trusts me enough to take care of the store. We’ve never really been the best of friends, since we’re both stubborn as hell, and have temper - but I’d like to point out that Gajeel is worse than me, he once threw a chair through a window in anger - the window was closed, for your information, which left us a massive bill. 

Since our parents died seven years ago, Gajeel has been the one to take care of me, and I keep believing that I owe him everything, because without him I would have been sent to the orphanage where I could have spent my days looking out a window, whilst no one was going to adopt me - because who wants a Scarface? 

No, okay, I haven’t had this scar my whole life, I actually got it five years ago. 

“Alright, I think I can handle it, it’s not like there’s a lot of customers today anyway,” I say with a cocky grin on my face, which just makes a small vein pop on Gajeel’s forehead.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?! People just don’t understand true quality when it comes to music!” he claims, with a voice that completely drowns out the music that’s being played in the store. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it,” I say as I raise my hands ever so slightly in defense, though my brother is well aware that it’s a lie. 

“Tch, don’t make me regret leaving my store with you, Rogue, I’ll be back in half an hour! You better not have burned it to the ground meanwhile…” He grabs his black trench coat hanging on his chair and puts it on, even though it’s not exactly cold outside. 

“Yeah, yeah, you can count on me,” I sigh heavily as I wave my older brother off. The bell rings as he leaves out through the door, leaving me behind - just me, and the music blasting from the speakers hanging everywhere in the store, playing Lithium by Nirvana for now - some music I can actually handle, apart from the songs playing in the radio lately. 

I stand up from where I’m sitting and stretch my back a little bit, though I’m feeling kinda numb in all those places that I’ve been beaten up by Bacchus and the other jocks, something I could never tell my older brother. I have no idea how he would react if he actually knew that I was being bullied, so whenever something happens, I just blame it on my clumsiness, and I’m amazed that he still believes me. 

I’ve come home with bruises from falling down stairs, rice in my bag from me buying a pack of rice, only to find it ripped inside my bag as I brought it home - oh, not to mention being soaked from head to toe by a sudden downpour on my way back from school, just to mention a few incidents. Sometimes I’m glad that my brother has a thick skull. 

“Oh well, guess I could do my brother a favor and sort some of the new vinyl records that just came in from the last shipment. This store mainly sells vinyl records, but we do also have quite a few CDs and music instruments and parts. The floor consists of dark wood that is a little bit sticky from time to time, which is disgusting and I swear, if I hadn’t been working in this store then my brother would never have his store cleaned and it would be a complete mess. I find myself washing the floor every other day lately. 

Anyway, the gray walls in the store are decorated with old concert posters, framed autographs and pictures from some of all the concerts and signings my brother has been to. I do, in fact, envy him just a little bit. I enjoy music quite a lot, and I would love to be able to go to more concerts than I already do, but it’s no fun when the only person you know who could go with you is your older brother, who would rather go with his tiny girlfriend. 

I don’t feel like being a third wheel, no thanks. 

I make my way behind the counter to pick up an unopened box of new vinyl records that Gajeel still hasn’t found the time to check out and sort into their rightfully places in the store. I place it on the counter and rip it open only to let my eyes gaze over the stack of beautiful, untouched Ramones vinyl records. They’re completely new, and I do find it quite funny that vinyl records have become a trend again, even though CDs are way more practical - there’s just something about these vinyl records that just can’t be replaced by anything.

“Alright, let’s find a place for you guys,” I say to myself as I pick up the box and bring it to the section for punk rock vinyl. I stop in just about the middle of the store where all our other Ramones vinyls are stored and a small sigh leaves my lips. I like Ramones quite a lot, so it’s a joy for me to know that they’re not stored away somewhere in the back of the store.

The music from the speakers changes to The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance, and I quietly start humming along almost instantly while I put the vinyls in their rightful places in the record racks in front of me. I’m thankful that I’m all alone in the store right now, because it would be embarrassing if anyone saw me humming along, as well as moving my body a little bit to the rhythm while storing the vinyls. 

There aren’t a lot of customers in the store at this time of the day, so I usually take the opportunity to clean the shelves, the floor and the racks - of course I can’t exactly do that now, since I’m the only one in the store - apart from the sound of Gerard Way’s voice.

I suddenly hear the bell ring as someone enters the store, and first off I’m confident that it must be Gajeel returning from his errand, though it has barely been ten minutes. I furrow my brows a little bit as I turn around, “That was fa—…” I immediately shut up as I see an all too familiar face of the person who just stepped into the store, and I instantly kneel down behind the record racks I have just been sorting vinyl records into. 

“There’s no way,” I whisper quietly to myself as I carefully look forward from my hiding place as I try not to be noticed by the blond guy standing at the door. He seems to look around, as if he’s looking for something or someone - he probably needs assistance, but I refuse to let him see me. Hell, I don’t even know what he’s doing here, him of all people, the alpha male, Sting Eucliffe. He is still carrying his guitar on his back, so my guess would be that he needs help with something regarding that instrument of his. 

He’s wearing a pair of dark, ripped jeans, a black leather jacket with countless of rivets on it, and a T-shirt underneath with some logo that’s hard to distinguish from my given position. He’s wearing quite a lot of accessories, including piercings in his lip as well as his left eyebrow - opposite to the side where a small scar is running across it. His shoes consist of a pair of black army boots, completing the whole outfit. 

“Shit, shit, fuck, crap,” I hiss at myself as soon as the alpha male starts making his way around the store, looking around with a pair of curious, blue eyes, like he’s never been in a record store before - well, I’ve never seen him in this record store, at least, but then again; I don’t hang around here all the time. 

I don’t understand why, but he seems to have a smile on his face for some reason, and something that seems like small stars in his eyes, as he makes his way around the store. However, as soon as he gets somewhat close to the place I’m hiding, I sneak my way around the record isle, thanking God that I didn’t trip over my own hands and feet since I am, very much, crawling on all fours in order to not be noticed. 

“Hello? Anyone here?” the alpha male then calls out, even though he doesn’t seem to mind waiting a little bit longer, since he’s like immersed in the many different kinds of CDs, vinyls and whatnot around him. 

“God dammit, Gajeel wont be back for another fifteen minutes,” I cuss at myself. 

Of all people in the whole world, I didn’t expect the alpha male to step into the store, yet alone since he’s always swarmed by other people wanting his attention. No, as I might have mentioned before, I have never spoken to Sting Eucliffe, and I most definitely don’t want to, because from what I have experienced from his so-called friends, they do all seem to like to make fun of me by calling me by my oh so famous nickname. 

“Aw, come on! There has to be someone in here, man?!” Sting groans as he runs one of his hands through his all too sparkly, blond hair, and he undoubtedly looks like someone from a L’Oréal commercial. 

I’m about to hiss quietly and reposition myself since my foot is slowly falling asleep - however, clumsy as always, I manage to fall over, even though I was already crouched down on the floor. My body collides with the floor, as if I haven’t gotten enough bruises today, and my cover is blown since the music from the speakers wasn’t loud enough to drown out the bump. 

“Ugh,” I growl quietly as I sit on the floor on my ass, glaring at my leg that betrayed me by falling asleep at the worst time imaginable, and now I’m completely sure that that I’ll be found out by Sting - everyone will know that Scarface works at Iron Records, which is fucking great! It wouldn’t surprise me if the jocks at the school would use it against me, or maybe even let their anger out on my brother’s store - which would be a dick move. 

“Whoa, hey there!” I hear a rather cheery voice say and as soon as I look to the side, I make eye contact with the blond male, much to my dismay, “You work here, right? Oh, are you alright?”

I might or might not be just a little bit surprised that he actually seems kinda nice to me, even though I’m the infamous Scarface that everyone seems to talk about at school, but instead of answering him I just turn my face away as I somehow manage to get on my legs. 

“Anyway, how can I help you?” I ask before forcing myself to look at the stranger, even though I do very well know his name, a little bit too well, in fact. Our eyes meet, blue to red, and for a few seconds he just stands and stares at me with much confusion in his eyes - bewilderment, or slight wonder.

“Oh! Right, you see, I’m in so much trouble,” he starts off with an annoyed growl, “I broke my last G-string earlier today, and I have a huge gig tonight with my band, so I just thought that maybe I would be able to—…” 

By the time he stops talking I think he realizes that I’m just staring at him with wide eyes and burning, red cheeks for some reason, as I am pretty sure I’m misunderstanding something. 

“Your… What, broke?” I ask in utter confusion, and before I know it, a wide grin spreads on the other male’s face which sends shivers down my spine - I’m sure I’m going to regret this. 

“Mhm? G-strings not your forte, handsome?” he asks with a teasing grin on his face, and you can completely forget about the G-string part - did he just call me handsome, of all things? 

He’s teasing me, isn’t he? 

“What are you even—…”

“Well, that is a major development, maybe if you have a minuet we could step outside for a quick break?” he continues, and I find myself unable to say anything in return in order to stop him from whatever he’s doing, because this is probably the silliest thing I’ve heard all day - no, all week. I’m amazed that he doesn’t stop talking when he sees my unamused glare staring back at him. 

“Oh, perhaps you’re having treble with your vocal chords? You’re not really in tune with what’s going on? O-boe-y!” he says with a cheeky grin on his lips, a grin that is starting to annoy me just a little bit, not to mention a lot. 

“… Give it a rest with the music puns, geez,” I say and roll my eyes at him, not exactly interested. 

“Ow, you catch on quickly, handsome!” he laughs just before he takes his guitar off his back, “No, but let’s be serious here, I need a new G-string for my guitar.” 

“Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?” I ask with a skeptical look in my eyes.

“Well—… Wait, what did you think I was talking about?” he asks in confusion as he looks after me while I’m making my way up to our shelves with instrument parts, including strings for guitars.

“Damn, if there’s something I hate it’s when strings break,” I sigh slightly annoyed while I find a fresh pack of strings that would suit the other male’s guitar. 

“Oh, you play as well?” he asks with a smile as I turn around to face him once again. I am still very much surprised by the fact, that he’s actually kind to me, and he hasn’t even called me by my nickname yet, which is amazing.

“I used to,” I reply as I hand him the pack of guitar strings, “These should fit your guitar, I believe you know how to string it, right?” 

“Oh, you betcha’!” he grins widely, “Say, what’s your name, pretty?”

Now, this is confusing - does he really not know who I am? Maybe it is true that the fewest people at the school know my real name, but even so he should still be able to know that I’m Scarface, right? It’s not possible that he can be that dumb. Besides, what’s with the compliments? Does he just like to torment people? Make people believe they’re actually worth something before he tears them down and steps on their newly-found self-esteem? 

“Rogue,” I answer shortly and cross my arms over my chest with the same, skeptical look in my red eyes. 

“Why did you stop playing, Rogue?” he asks with a sly smile.

“None of your business, really,” I growl lowly at him before making my way up to the counter so that he will be able to pay for his strings and leave the store before I kick him out, or before he realizes who I am. 

“Aw, why are you being such a party pooper?” he asks as he walks to the other side of the counter and fishes his wallet up from his back pocket. His wallet is a rather worn, black leather wallet with a chain in it, connecting it to the belt in his pants. 

A small part of me might feel a little bit guilty at the fact that I probably haven’t been treating him fair, compared to the way he’s been treating me, even if he’s been teasing me about my looks ever since he laid his eyes on me, “Fine, what kind of gig are you having tonight?” I ask in order to maybe lift the mood just a little bit, and it seems to be working, because the grin is immediately back on his lips as he pays for the guitar strings, in cash of course. 

“Oh, we’re playing at the Bootleg bar, you should come and see us,” he says with a small laugh, “I promise you, you wont regret it!”

There’s no way I’m going to show up to that gig, because if Sting’s band is there, then there will without a doubt be a lot of students from the school as well. Maybe Sting doesn’t recognize me, for some odd reason, but the other students at the gig will undoubtedly do it. 

“I’ll think about it,” I reply with a small shrug of my shoulders. 

“Great, then I’ll see you tonight, cutie,” he says and winks at me a single time before he spins around on his heel and heads for the exit of the store, leaving me behind in utter bewilderment as the bell rings and he disappears from sight - because there is absolutely no way that this was Sting Eucliffe, the alpha male, right? 


End file.
